


Warm And Fuzzy

by Angel_made_of_scars



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Flashbacks, Fluff, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 03:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15040199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_made_of_scars/pseuds/Angel_made_of_scars
Summary: Bucky loves his new socks. But when he wears them around Steve’s apartment too long, and get shocked by the coffee pot, it couldn’t have been worse for him.





	Warm And Fuzzy

**Author's Note:**

> YES I’M BACK! Maybe. Stepping my toes in the water of fanfiction again. I was having some major dissasociation problems reading it, like I would lose time, and not feel REAL HAHAHA but anyway I’m sort of back.

For a while after being brought back, you know, from being disintegrated, he didn’t really feel... whole. There were times when his face would start to tingle from lack of sleep or not consuming enough water or food that day, and he thought it was happening all over again. The first time his foot fell asleep he had locked himself in Steve’s room and cried. He had been out shopping and never found out.

Then there was the cold. It was so unbelievably cold. After he... stopped being. He felt it. Time traveled differently. He wasn’t there long. But it was like he wasn’t really dead yet. Maybe he could feel because the universe knew he would come back. But whatever. The point was he didn’t like the cold now. Even his arm sort of unnerved him.

He took it off, and Steve gave him the special sensitive skin lotion to put on his stub of arm, or, more shoulder. But it didn’t help. Because with the air conditioning on in the hot summer heat, and his lack of substantial body fat, his feet were cold.

Steve noticed of course. Almost immediately. And he did everything he could to make him comfortable. Turned up the temperature a bit, got rid of the bedside fan at night, gave him a new blanket. But when that didn’t work, he was presented with a bag of tissue paper.

“What is this?”

“It’s a gift Buck, just open it.” Steve chuckled. So he did, and inside, were a weeks worth of fuzzy, warm socks.

“You don’t have to wear them. I mean, one pair is bright pink. I’d understand. But they’re suppose to be really warm and I thought it would help.” Steve said. And Bucky just nodded, not really sure what to say.

He was thankful. And the only way he really knew how to show that was to at least try the, kind of ridiculous, bright pink socks first.

And he loved them. He kept them on for a week, unless he has to go out. Which, since the Captains departure from the avengers, he hadn’t really had to do.

Steve always offered to take him to the store, or even the mall, if he wanted to try on some clothes that weren’t Steve’s. But he didn’t think he was actually ready to go out into society yet. No one really liked him after all. He’d have to stay careful, hidden and disguised, and it was just too much stress.

So, he stayed home. In his fuzzy pink socks. And today, Steve was home with him. Of course the guy got up before him, after he had settled in. Once he stopped being in a constant state of fear, and the nightmares calmed to only a few a week, he slept in. Because it was a luxury he got. That, and his socks.

He trudged out of his room around ten, late for him, and moved sleepily across the floor to the coffee pot. Steve always brewed enough for both of them to have four cups, because he wasn’t sure how much they would want on any given day. Some nights were rough, some weren’t.

Steve waved at him from the couch and mumbled a good morning. The tv played the news, just the local weather. Nothing traumatic today. People were still celebrating in parades for the people who came back. Everything seemed fine. He reached for the coffee pot.

Shock. Just a tiny zap. He jerked his hand away. He held it like he had been burned and his head spun. It was just a shock. Just static. Just static. Just static shock. Just a shock. A-A shock. A shock.

He was back in that chair, words being pushed into his brain to trigger a monster and feelings rushing back of anger and sadness and regret and- submission. It was all coming back. He had failed. They had won. They took him. They made him a beast.

“Stop!”

It was all that would come out. He didn’t need coffee anymore, his body was shaking with adrenaline. He was shaking in general. His mouth felt like cotton and searing pain at the same time, as he tasted blood and realized he had clamped down on his tongue. He at least had the mind to move that in his mouth and cough and spit, even if it was right on the floor.

He almost gave himself whiplash from how fast he turned at approaching footsteps. It was just Steve, but it made things much worse.

“Don’t! I’ll hurt you! The shocks! They-” He screamed, cut off, not sure what to say, then stumbling. Steve reached out, but Bucky dodges, and his back hit the fridge, and he let himself fall to the side of it, crumbling to the ground.

And then the sobs came. Horrible, wrecked sounds, that tore through his body and left him gasping for air. So much so that his lungs felt like fire and his vision was going dark, and then there was a bag being pressed to his lips, and a hand on the back of his head, and he just sank into it, clutching this saviors arm with his own good hand.

It seemed like eternity, but his breath came back, dissolving into small hiccups and whines. His hand shook. His feet felt numb. His stomach churned. It was still too much.

“I got you. We’re safe.”

He looked up from his knees into- oh- Steve’s eyes. Right. No, he could hurt him. That chair, what if he remembered-

“I trust you Buck. I trust you. I trust you.” He repeated. And if Steve trusted him not to, maybe he could too. Maybe it would be ok.

“P-Please-”

“Anything. What do you need?” Steve said quickly. His breath started to hitch again. He didn’t know. He wanted it to stop. He had been doing so good. He just needed to stop thinking, just-

The bag was back. And he took huge breaths, trying to take back what he had just lost. It always seemed to come in waves, but it hadn’t happened in a long time.

“Make it stop.” Bucky verbalized weakly.

Steve nodded, and slowly began touching him. Not too much at once, just sliding his arm around his back, and under his knees. He sat there for a moment like that, before picking him up off the ground completely, and Buckys head spun in a brief moment of dizziness but it passed.

Before he knew it he was on the reclining chair, and Steve was gone. He was about to begin panicking all over again, when he came back, juice and some toast in his hands. How long had he actually been in the recliner? Long enough for Steve to make toast?

“Losing time.” He mumbled.

“How much do you think?” Steve asked, setting the refreshments on the coffee table.

“Few minutes.”

“Ok, it’s ok, we’ll talk to the doctor about it, but you probably just zoned out. I’m going to pick you up again alright?” Steve said. Bucky nodded and he was being swept up again, this time being taken to the couch, and put practically on Steve’s lap, at least, most of his legs covered Steve.

“Can you drink this?” Steve asked. And now that he mentioned it, he was parched. He started sipping the drink, but ended up chugging it. Steve took the cup and picked up the toast, putting that in his hand in its place.

It had his favorite jam on it, and he nibbles at it, finally taking a few bites. His stomach still disagreed with him after the blood, snot, and hyperventilation.

As he put it back on the plate, Steve wrapped his blanket around them, and eased Buckys head back with gentle hands. Bucky complied, leaning on Steve’s shoulder and breathing in the smell of his skin right along his jawline.

It wasn’t new, exactly, but it was perfect, different from the smell of sick sweaty skin he was used to back in the old days. When little Steve was the one tucking into him, body wracked with fever, shakes, and coughing fits. This time he was warm, and soft, and perfect.

“I don’t want to leave.” Bucky practically whispered. His eyelids were drooping.

“You don’t have to. Ever.” Steve said. Bucky hummed and did on instinct what he wanted to. If his brain wasn’t trudging behind he may not have.

He pressed his lips to Steve’s pulse, and held him just the slightest bit tighter around his middle. To Steves credit, he didn’t even flinch. He simply pulled back to look at him, before pressing the slightest kiss to his forehead.

“That ok? I mean- is that what you want?” Steve asked. And yeah, it really was. Since the war days even.

“Yeah.” He answered.

So Steve nodded, and leaned forward again, this time pressing his lips to Buckys, barely there, not enough to leave him breathless or dizzy, but god, it was amazing. Everything he had needed for years held on those lips.

“Just rest, Buck. I won’t get up.” Steve said.

So he nodded and shut his eyes. He drifted off, at eleven fifteen that Saturday, with the news playing parades of cheers, and Steve’s arms around him grounding him, and his damn fuzzy socks keeping him warm.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! My first marvel fanfic so be nice! I don’t know everything about the universe. I’m just catching on now! Can’t believe I’ve missed the best marvel ship ever for so long.


End file.
